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her breath is cold upon my face, its smell sweet-rotten. it reminds me of the smell of the musty, rotting bag of dead ferrets i had carried as i had helped buckbeak escape from death long ago. i smile, magically perfected teeth shining in the moonlight. the smile is smug and quickly decays. when i put my arms around her i can feel her vertebrae through the robes, they feel almost sharp against my questing fingers. almost as if they could cut me. her robes are mildewy and they fairly squelch beneath my hands, saturated with an unspeakable fluid.

i place my mouth with hers and discover that her lips are damp and rubbery. i kiss her softly and gently, almost as if she could break. but she won't, i know that. i know everything. when i slip my tongue into her mouth she does not react. she does not mind. the inside of her mouth is smooth and cold, the taste of rotting dirt. dirt that she has lain in for mouths as i had prepared. inside of my mind i hear a cold, high laugh and hear him croon to me, 'don't look back.' i won't. instead, i twine my tongue with her spongy one and forcefully kiss her.

it begins to rain and i step back from her, trodding on the bag i had brought with me. the air has become a mist that half-hides her form from my eyes, even though she is right in front of me. i reach for her hand, the raindrops falling swiftly, cleansing rain. the same delicate hand with fingernails grown long (they do continue growing after). i press that hand to my lips and taste the sweet rain on her flesh. i lick at it, feeling some of the darkness lift.

releasing her hand, i reach down and pick up the sodden bag at my feet, reaching inside for my wand. with a few spoken spells i clean the mess i made. all that is left is the soft, untrodden grass and the graves pushing out the ground like rotten teeth. there are flowers in front of some of the graves. again i reach inside, this time for the hairbrush of hers that i had brought. i touch my wand to it and say, "portus." it briefly glows a faint blue that is reflected back by the fog, it trembles in my hands. illegal portkey, i smile faintly to myself. then i reach for her hand and touch both of our hands to the makeshift portkey. there is the feeling of jerking behind my navel. the wind howls in voices that gibber and laugh at me, colors swirl. she is at my side. i had half wondered if it would even bring her. it does.

she laughs into my mouth. finally being able to touch her, to have her near. i have been on holiday after graduation (to france for two weeks) and had eagerly anticipated our next meeting. when i had seen her eating dinner in the kitchen upon arriving at grimmauld place it had felt as if my heart had stopped. my breath had caught as i saw her red hair and bright smile. that smile had been for me. none of the others had noticed. ron had mumbled a "hallo, hermione," and harry had caught me up in a quick hug. his eyes had been a shining green that reflected my happy face back to me.

now night has fallen and we are alone. her arms are strong around me. our mouths touch and she whispers something that i cannot catch. it is the perfect moment. so stereotypical of young love. her hands are caressing my spine, running up and down it. her mouth tastes sweet, like a cool rain. i feel as if i could float up to the ceiling. then there is nothing but caressing hands and the taste of her kiss.

we are in my flat. the flat we had planned to share after her graduation. it is dingy, smelling of dirt and potions and despair. the despair that had been so sharp in my mouth these past few months. still holding her hand i lead her to the bathroom. with one hand, i turn the light on. towels are piled on the ground like snow, bathtub drain clogged with hair. my toothbrush hangs neatly in its holder. she does not look at the mess i've left, only stares vacantly ahead at something i cannot see (perhaps the spark that has remained out of the equation). i peel her robes off her, they fairly melt underneath my hands, coming apart, slick with fluid. her breasts are small and her nipples do no react to the cold. hand shaking with a suppressed emotion i touch one and am pleased to see it harden slowly, reluctantly. with a flick of my wand i clean the bathtub (why had i neglected it so long?) and levitate her into it. her skin is sallow, untouched by sun for months. slowly and surely i bathe her, trying to wash the scent of dirt away, wanting it to swirl down into the drains and be lost forever. i kiss her exanimate face once and she blinks. and blinks again. she is like wax in my hands; i stretch her limbs out to wash them, cleaning every bit of senseless flesh. when i am done i gently tug her up and she stands. i smile. she sways gently as i use a white towel to rub her dry. first her legs, then between her legs, then the rest. her face is ghostly in the harsh electric light, her features somehow stretched. when i speak she turns that vapid moonface towards me. her mouth twitches but she does not smile nor speak. red hair spills over her shoulders like a lifeless animal pelt, it does not shine in the light. i shall have to brush it.

i get her out of the bathtub and lead her, naked, into my room. there i sit her at my dresser (upon which countless notes are haphazardly skewed). without hurry i fetch my hairbrush and pose myself behind her. i brush and brush and brush her hair. with quick strokes, then with slow calm ones that remind me of the tides. my hand is steady and does not shake. her red hair remains lackluster until i cast a charm on it. it makes me think of her before and i place one lingering kiss on the side of her neck.

my mouth feels numb. i cannot speak, the words are trapped in my chest; like birds fluttering and crashing against a grimy window.

remus repeats the words again, 'young ginny weasley was killed. it was a surprise attack. there was nothing that could be done.' his face is ashen and he looks as if he has aged tremendously since i had last seen him. mrs. weasley's face crumples and then she shrieks. her nails dig furrows into her face. mr. weasley has gone still and shocked. harry is shouting something. i turn and walk from the room; i walk out the front door. where is ginny? i have to find her.

i see snape; i see that he is wearing his usual black robes. his gaze is cold and i back away from him. has he seen ginny?

"where do you think you're going, miss granger?" he asks quietly, his voice is dangerous. i do not care. i turn away from him blindly and start walking fast. then his hand is on a vice grip on my arm. he is speaking but i cannot understand him. he shakes me. all i can say is "ginny." it is said in a voice that i cannot recognize as my own, the voice is shrill and glassy slivers of panic lurk underneath.

i see that he knows. he knows everything. i wonder numbly if he has somehow reached into my mind. his eyes are dark tunnels, at the edges of my vision traces of black began to seep in. as i go away into the dark the last i see are those dark pitiless eyes.


i have dressed her in a modest white nightgown. seeing her sitting, shoulders slumped, silently before my dresser has awoken a shard of uneasiness that cuts and scrapes at me. it draws blood. i will vanquish it. i will.

i lay her down on the bed and pose her body; i lie down next to her, my breasts pressing against her back. she breathes silently. in and out. in and out. i take comfort in the feel of her chest slowing moving with her breathing, it is a balm for my uneasiness. it smoothes the sharp edges. for she is alive. isn't she.

when i wake up it is night. i can hear snoring from one of the portraits on the wall. this is our room, the one we share. someone has carried me to my bed. i stumble out of my bed towards hers and reach for ginny. she will be lying curled up on her side, her eyes closed in sleep. the bed is empty and then i remember snape's dark eyes boring into mine as the world went dark. my legs give out and i fall to my knees at the side of ginny's bed. the bed is neatly made and it is cold. so cold. i shiver. my face is wet, i cannot recall having cried. i stand up and get into her bed and cover myself with her blanket. her scent surrounds me and my chest feels tight. i want to cry but i cannot. tears seem useless, final. they will not bring her back. nothing can bring her back. ever. i close my eyes and concentrate on breathing in and out. i put my arms around myself (in the morning i find finger shaped bruises etched into my arms). ginny cannot be brought back. that thought keeps me up until the morning.


i wake up to cool darkness. i can hear the rain, it is a disconcerting sound. it reminds me of the wet-bruised eyes of mrs. weasley when we buried ginny. she had cast them on me for a moment and i had felt as if i could not breathe. ginny is now facing me; her eyes are open and staring. i watch her blink slowly and steadily. her breath is cold. i shift closer to her and kiss her; it is a slow languorous kiss. her lips do not press against mine. her mouth is still a cold cavern.

when i pull her nightgown up she does not mind. she merely stares at me with that blank, terrible face. i taste of her small breasts, slowly sucking each nipple, manipulating them with my hands. her breathing remains steady. finally, her nipple hardens and i am suddenly wet between my thighs. a wetness that makes me shift in the bed. she is not wearing any panties; i had felt they were unnecessary. her thighs open outwardly when i apply pressure. is that reproach on her face? no, it is merely the same masklike stare.

when i trail my fingers through her pubic hair and into her i find that she is dry. dry and unresponsive. her body is closed to me; it has shut a door against my advances. i move to the side of the bed and get my wand. with a slightly shaking hand i perform a lubrication spell. wetness seeps out of her and leaves a stain upon the bedclothes.

i place myself between her thighs and suck on her clit, all the while sticking two of my fingers into her wet cunt. i can almost believe that it is not manufactured. when she shudders against me i lick my fingers and discover they taste of dirt. instead of letting a frown appear i kiss her gently and lie down next to her. i turn her away. it's not polite to stare.